


Plan: Seduce Arthur

by Peasantaries



Series: Juvenile Delinquents [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Multi, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sickfic, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The misadventures of trying to seduce your boyfriend and other tales.</p><p>[part of a series; can be read as a stand-alone]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is way, way overdue by just a few years, but this is basically a snippet into the lives of Arthur and Eames after the Games. 
> 
> It has very little plot, but I was going through all my discarded works and found these little 'deleted scenes' and I just knew I had to post them.

Plan: Seduce Arthur.

_Step 1:_ _Blindside him at lunch with seductive ways._

“So...” Eames drawls casually, and attempts to lean back against the table casually.

It fails.

His elbow bumps awkwardly into the tabletop before the table wobbles precariously. He tries to regain his balance, but only manages to bash his arm against the stand and he grabs it with both hands to catch it from falling.

“ _Shit_.” He mutters, setting it upright. “So-oh.” Eames tries again, turning to face Arthur andwiggling his eyebrows as if he might not have seen all that.

Arthur is watching the proceedings with a twisted mouth, fighting any amusement that threatens to flash across his face. He raises an eyebrows at Eames.

“Looking particularly dashing.” He states.

“Oh yes, very, eh — oh, did you just compliment yourself?” Eames blinks, confused.

Arthur's mouth wobbles. “No. I meant your little stumble.”

Eames looks around wildly. “St — I didn't see any stumble, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Eames.” Arthur says, voice flat. “You have a ketchup stain on your shirt.” His lips wobble.

Eames gazes at him with lazy eyes, undeterred. “It’s all the range, nowadays, quite fashionable, hadn’t you heard?” He flicks his wrist around unaffectedly.

“No, I hadn’t.” Arthur muses, playing along.

“Hmm, well, y— oh, look over there!” He says abruptly.

Arthur glances around quickly, but can’t see anything. He turns back to ask, only to find Eames wiping at his t-shirt with his thumb, tongue peeking out of his lips in concentration.

Arthur smiles.

Eames lifts his eyes up ever so slowly, like a dramatic thief caught in the act, and Arthur has to, just has to, outright laugh.

Eames drops the facade the longer Arthur laughs at him. “This isn’t working. Bollocks.” He curses.

“What was it you were trying to do?” Arthur wheezes. “You texted me ‘meet me by the tables’, no explanation, and then just crashed into the stand.”

“Because!” Eames gesticulates. “People who date —” he lowers his voice, glancing around. They still aren’t exclusive, just yet. “People who date, go out for lunch.” He states strongly.

“Maybe people who aren’t still in high school. I have a history project I want to hand in, can I meet you later?” Arthur starts packing up his things.

Eames watches him forlornly. “If you must. Do you not want to ravish me just a little?” He pouts.

Arthur blinks, cheeks darkening in a flush. “What?! No!” He hisses, glancing around.

Eames startles back at that reaction. “Oh right. Glad we cleared that up.” He says with an indignant huff, hurt.

“Eames.” Arthur sighs. He leans close. “I really have to go, I don't know what it is you're trying to do, as usual I'm sure I'll find out in a few weeks time, but I'll meet you later.” He touches two fingers to Eames' wrist. “Yeah?”

Eames melts.

As he's watching Arthur leave, he suddenly realises that it's mostly always Arthur that does the seducing.

*

They walk home, as they always do.

Eames meets Arthur after class and they usually spend hours back at his place studying or watching TV or talking before Eames remembers he doesn't actually live there.

He drags himself back home every night, to his huge, empty house.

As they walk, the start up mindless chatter, of the day’s events and any gossip they gathered along the way. Eames would find the conversation with anybody else mind numbingly dull if it wasn’t Arthur's thoughts, Arthur's opinions and doubts. He would have difficulty concentrating were it not for the way Arthur moves his hands as he speaks, listens intently to anything Eames says back.

These moments when they walk home are amongst the few they actually get alone together.

Eames treasures them.

But today doesn't seem like the best of days for walking. The sky is blackening, clouds rolling around, a rumble among them like a warning.

Suddenly there's a rush of wind, and then pelts of rain are violently flooding down. Eames sighs, tilts his head upwards towards the sky morosely. He turns to Arthur, and they share the exact same look of pure misery.

Eames has to laugh.

Arthur then extends his body downwards in an elegant bow, hair falling over his eyes wetly, one arm under his stomach, as if thanking nature for ruining their walk.

God, but Eames is in love with him.

Arthur meets Eames’ gaze, and they share a silent communication before they start to run.

Arthur sprints ahead, but stops when he notices Eames is lagging. He grins, begins to twirl on the spot as he waits, his body becoming one long, graceful arch.

“Are you dancing?” Eames shouts through the roar of rain as he catches up, and Arthur's smile is quick lightening, an electric bolt.

“Maybe!” He shouts back, grinning deviously, moving away down the path and throwing his head back to the rain.

Eames laughs and says, “You know, you're wasted on gymnastics. Could've been a better version of Billy Elliot!”

Arthur's smile widens, and he slows, until he brashly starts towards Eames, spinning, eyes snapping on Eames every time he comes back around.

Arthur is still spinning to him, coming in closer and closer, and when he's near enough, just to the side, Eames catches his extended hand and pulls him into his chest.

Arthur tumbles harmlessly, effortlessly, the leg that was outstretched slinging around Eames' ankle for leverage, curling around Eames' own, and Eames is helpless because Arthur is unexpectedly close, so close he's under Eames' skin, worming through his blood and settling inside his bones.

Arthur’s sweet, smiling face and wispy, wind-blown hair and dimples.

Eames catches Arthur's lips in a kiss.

It’s entirely an accident. Arthur's head was swaying with the after-shock and Eames was pulled in closer still by Arthur tightening his leg, and they bump mouths.

After that, they both slow, stop moving altogether, and Eames has the strongest urge, the strongest he’s ever felt, to simply _give in_.

After their first kiss, they had become shy, awkward and nervous, too fumbling to do anything more. They spend most of their time together, sure; but it’s training, and then school, and then other things that always seem to fall in the way.

But now, Arthur tentatively moves his head, scrapes his lips across Eames', and Eames makes a small, shivering, uneven noise through his nose.

Arthurs lips are soft against him, as plump and ripe as fruit, and Eames is helpless to resist.

His mind floods with a searing, hot white, and all Eames knows is that Arthur is languidly moving, delicately touching, and Eames feels something stir inside the pit of his stomach, a hunger that slowly unfurls in his gut to claw at his chest as Arthur keeps kissing him so gently.

Eames clamps his arms around Arthurs, drags him up closer, as close as he can get. The kiss turns frantic, as if they'll never get another chance. Eames curls his fingers at the back of Arthurs shirt, bunches the material and pulls it as though he could rip it off.

Arthur's fingers slide into the short stands of Eames’ hair, runs his hand through the fine curls and grazes his nails over Eames’ sensitive scalp.

Eames lets out an involuntary, helpless gasp. Arthur arcs his back to Eames' hands and Eames' teeth gently pull on Arthur's lower lip, and Eames' hands ruck up under Arthur's shirt to the silky warm skin.

Arthur squirms at Eames' cold hands, but moans breathlessly as Eames skates his fingers down Arthur's sides. Eames can't stop, but he's becoming less and less oxygenated, and he knows if he pulls away this will end, so he gives one last desperate press to Arthur's mouth, one last clench of his fingers, before he lets go, panting.

They breathe heavily, their clothes soaked through and hair dripping wet, generally sodden and uncomfortable, but Arthur's face suddenly breaks into the brightest beam he has ever seen, eyes wrinkling and cheeks indenting with those dimples, and Eames grins in return. They go back to Arthur's place breathless with laughter and spraying water everywhere, and Auntie Mallory scolds them before getting them some blankets.

*

“Okay? So are you boys alright?”

Said boys glance up from their position, curled together underneath a duvet on the couch, knees pressed awkwardly and arms tangled.

Mallory pretends not to notice the way that Eames has struck up a careful twining of one of Arthur's wet strands of hair around his finger; she believes he's trying to be subtle, with his hand hidden, and she wouldn't want to embarrass him.

“Yeah? Where are you going again?” Arthur asks sleepily.

“Just out.” She tries to control the heating of her cheeks; she's a fully grown adult.

“Ohhhh.” Eames says teasingly, which she thinks is rather brave, given his current predicament of being wrapped around her adopted son and trying to look like he categorically isn't.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, me and Do — me and Cobb are just going out for a few hours, so I expect you two on your best behaviour.”

“Coach?!” Arthur cries indignantly. “You're going out with Coach?”

“Just for a drink.” She replies calmly, but fiddles with the end of her scarf. “Although if I had known you had a problem with it, I wouldn't —”

"No, no!" Arthur holds up his hands. "I —sorry, I'm just surprised.”

She smiled kindly. "Well. It's quite new." She feels her ears hot.

"Okay." Arthur says, at a loss.

"Have fun!" Eames yells and turns away, a classic sign of 'bye!'

He even goes so far as to nestle further into the couch.

Mallory can take a hint. She leaves, grinning, rolling her eyes fondly at her two boys.

*

As soon as the door closes, Arthur feels heat spread up from his toes to his whole body.

Eames is wonderfully solid and deliciously warm pressed to him, and he can feel tender fingers caress the back of his neck, igniting shivers up his spine.

He has no idea what today was — an impromptu make out session?

You might think, being teenagers, they spend most of their time doing just that, but as trainee athletes, not so much. They've hardly had five seconds alone together, and whenever they do get the time, it's to study, or to train, or to walk home.

They're always _doing something _.__

"Eh," Eames starts eloquently, "Do you want to stick on a movie?"

"I'll get some snacks." Arthur jumps up, suddenly jittery with nerves, and fills bowls with crisps and popcorn. He sets them down and turns to Eames, grinning deviously and holding up The Notebook.

Arthur rolls his eyes and shakes his head laughing, but doesn't complain. They settle back against the covers again, and Arthur feels as if his chest could burst by the tentative way Eames spreads his arm along the back of the couch.

But after a while, Arthur finds himself actually watching the movie, and he turns to grin at Eames at one point, only to sigh.

Eames is asleep.

His head has fallen back to expose his throat, mouth partly open, and he's sound asleep.

Arthur can't help the warmth that spreads through his chest, even as he wants to scream at a missed opportunity.

But he looks so tired, face slackened in sleep and frown-lines smoothed out. He looks young, vulnerable and breathtaking, and Arthur can't help but stare.

He takes the time to watch him for a moment, breathing in and out, and marvels at the fact that Eames is actually his, that he actually wants him in the way Arthur does. That he really wants to be with him.

He reaches out and brushes a stand of hair from his forehead.

"I always want to ravish you." He tells him softly.


	2. Step 2

Plan: Seduce Arthur

_Step 2: DON'T FALL ASLEEP ON THE DAMN COUCH YOU UTTER_

**

Coming out to Rick and the others was both a surprisingly painless and surprisingly painful experience.

“Is this supposed to be new information? Because I'd be pretty worried if you didn't think we all know you're in love with Arthur.”

"Wh —” Eames splutters. “Yes I know, it's just — isn't it meant to be. I dunno, like a formal thing?”

“A formal thing? What are you talking about?”

“Aren't you supposed to have a ceremony? Like an — an unveiling? A coming-out? Of a closet? Or something?”

Ricks expression crumples in confusion. “Eames, you're not turning into a unicorn.”

Eames rolls his eyes. “That's not — I _mean,_ aren't you supposed to have a family gathering and then stand up —”

"No, Eames." Rick cuts him off. "No. You just tell people, _normally._ God, is that why you called us all here? I thought you were going to tell us you were dying."

Eames grumbles. That would probably have been less painful that this.

*

Eames' parents are away for the weekend. A couples retreat of some sort, but most importantly — _away_ _,_ actually abroad, for a whole weekend, a whole three days, 70 something hours.

Eames' parents are away and Eames is _sick _.__

Well and truly buggered. Not just a slight sniffle, he's got it all going for him — dry, heaving cough, nausea, fever. He's not felt this bad in a long time, since he was twelve and contracted tonsillitis.

He's lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids and a hand-made blanket of dirty tissues when he hears the door go.

He had texted Arthur not just an hour ago of his predicament, so he wasn't expecting to see him through the peephole, freshly showered, hair damp, and holding up a bag.

"Arthur?" Is a far as he gets before he's set off on another round of hacking up his lungs.

"Yep. Let me in."

"What are you —" He coughs again, bending slightly to wheeze.

"Eames." Arthur's voice sounds nearer, somehow. "Let me in."

He's too weak to do anything more than unlock the door.

Immediately, Arthur is striding inside, setting his bag down and taking Eames' shoulders.

"Right. We need to get you back to bed."

Eames groans. "Don't wanna." He moans pitifully.

"Well you'll have to. There's no way you're doing anything other than resting up for the next few days."

"But training —”

"Never mind about that." He says as he walks into the kitchen, pulling open cupboards and switching on the kettle.

"What are you doing?" He asks, hovering by the doorway, shivering.

He catches sight of his appearance in the very generously placed mirror in the hallway, and wants to die.

He's almost sure this is the most unattractive a person has ever looked in the history of humanity.

He isn't feeling very seductive.

In fact, this is the least seductive he's ever felt in his life.

“Making you a hot water bottle, and then I'll heat up some soup. There's a few pills I want you to take, and then it's strictly rest.”

"Are you taking care of me?" He asks, tilting his head curiously.

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't?"

Eames goes a little boneless at that, smiling dopily, probably looking like a crazed mad-man. Arthur smiles back, cheeks tinged pink.

He's a whirlwind, cleaning the living room as he goes, pushing Eames to sit and wrapping him up in covers, settling a hot water bottle against his belly and a warm cup of tea into his hands, turning on the stove and shuffling about in his plastic bag.

Eames is still smiling deliriously, feeling warm all over and considerably better. He hears Arthur clanking around in the kitchen, and let's his eyes drift down for a moment.

He's gentled awake as Arthur takes the cold mug from his hands, replaces a bowl of soup. His arms feel heavy and so Arthur rolls his eyes, takes the spoon and lifts it to his mouth. He complies easily, blinking up at Arthur's soft, caring expression.

"Thank you." He mumbles sleepily. Arthur nods, takes the empty plate and goes away. He returns moments later to usher Eames upstairs.

Eames hefts himself up and clings to Arthur's strong hands as he takes him to his bedroom. He collapses against the pillows and swallows the pills Arthur offers without any concern.

"Now. Sleep." Arthur says sternly.

Eames takes Arthur's wrist. "I'm sorry we couldn't —”

"Shh, shh." Arthur shakes his head.

Eames sighs petulantly. "I was going to seduce you. I had a plan."

Arthur's eyes crinkle as they often do when he finds something especially funny. "Oh?"

"Don't laugh." He suddenly wants to cry for some absurd reason.

"Eames." There's a wealth of fondness in Arthur's voice, his gaze, his hands as he strokes through Eames' greasy hair. "You don't have to seduce me. I'm hook, line and sinker."

"Oh?" He asks, feeling his cheeks heat, and not because of all the layers.

"Very much so." Arthur's face appears to be shining above him, like an angel, although he's fairly sure it's the delirium.

He might even say it out loud, because Arthur's face glows more with the force of his sudden grin, but he can't really remember.

*

Life resumes as it were; training and school and work, day after day, tirelessly ticking on. He finds that wiping down tables and cleaning toilets is made a lot more tolerable when he can see Eames' slumped, tired but nonetheless _there;_ his shadow in their usual corner booth, a plate of pancakes waiting for them when he gets off.

He's not sure if it's normal for people to spend so much time together, if people spend this much time with their — 'significant other.'

Sure, they have an — admittedly large, now, group of friends outside and inside of school, that they talk to on a daily basis, but he and Eames. They're something else. Attached at the hip doesn't sound strong enough.

Of course, they weren't Rick and Ariadne. Ever since Eames' party, which seems like a lifetime ago now, they've been seeing each other, and they weren't shy about it. Although Arthur was happy for his best friend, he didn't want to be subjected to that amount of PDA.

Maybe he was a little vindictive. For all he and Eames were, you know - still, they haven't. Arthur blushes at the thought, at any mention of the word, but. Nothing on that front.

And not for lack of — _trying_ , or for any lack of want. He can tell, anytime Eames glances to him, and his gaze goes warm and oddly intense, dark; anytime they brush and their skin makes contact, his breathing speeds, his blood begins to rush.

But it's something spontaneous, it can't be planned, and, despite Eames' best attempts, neither of then can be seduced. They're already _there _,__ it's just finding the time.

*

Arthur and Eames sit in silence, reading.

Eames' eyes flicker over to Arthur for a moment. He's scanning the pages with reverent eyes, svelte legs an awkward tangle and Eames can see the small inflation of his chest as he breathes slowly, the red cotton material of his polo shirt rising and falling.

Why does he have to be so unintentionally lovely?

It's been seven weeks since they began dating, and Eames has never been this sexually frustrated in his life.

On an average good day, he manages to only toss off about five times. And on days like this, studying in Arthur's room, just two of them, Arthur just within reach and sprawled in front of him.

Well. It isn't looking good.

Arthur's eyes flicker over to Eames and Eames quickly looks away. He feels eyes burn the side of his head. He glances up hesitantly but Arthur whips his head back.

Eames goes back to reading.

Arthur sighs so softly that Eames thinks he might've imagined it, but Arthur's shirt rides up to expose a strip of skin on his stomach.

Eames pokes Arthur in the side with his big toe.

Arthur yelps and thwacks about.

Eames chuckles. "Looking a tad bit exposed there." He taps him again only this time he wiggles his cold toes deep into Arthur's ribs.

Arthur just about screams.

He kicks out with his leg and sends the book flying, arms whacking at odd angles and body convulsing.

"Stop that!" He yells whilst giggling involuntarily.

"What?" Eames inquires innocently as Arthur settles back down, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

"That — I'm ticklish." Arthur states primly.

"Oh, are we are now?" Eames asks sweetly.

"Yes. You know that." He says.

Eames grins wider, slowly advancing.

Arthur jolts away as if Eames has already attacked, nervous titters accompanying. "Don't you even dare. Study." He points a finger in warning.

Eames raises his eyebrows innocently, turning back to the page, waiting for a moment.

Three.

Two.

One.

Eames leaps onto Arthur, simultaneously trapping him by sitting on his waist and catching his wrists in his hands so he can't get away.

Eames flexes his thigh muscles, clenching and unclenching, squeezing Arthur in place. Arthur thrashes and screams, screams as if Eames is torturing him.

"What was that, I can't quite make—”

"Please please Eames, please don't." Arthur gasps wantonly, and Eames feels a jolt of electricity, a sharp burst of heat at those words.

"Don't what?" Eames coos, bending to let his lips brush and his breath blow ticklishly along the shell of Arthur's ear. Arthur's back arches straight off the floor.

"Don't do this?" Eames asks before collecting Arthur's both wrists in one large palm, and deftly running his fingers up and down Arthurs sides, flowing just the calloused pads along the clothed skin.

"No— plea— ahhahaa!" Arthur screeches hysterically, twisting and crying and shaking apart.

Eames pushes Arthurs t-shirt up, past his chest to bunch up around his collarbones. He lightly, ever so lightly, skates his blunt fingernails down Arthur's chest, above a pink nipple, past his ribcage and over his stomach. Arthur cries out, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, skin twitching and quivering.

"Ea — oh, c'mon!" Arthur cries.

Aiming at the big guns, expertise perfectly intact owing to his many younger cousins, Eames digs in all his fingers, letting go of Arthur's wrists, and wobbles them deep into the groves of Arthur's sides.

Arthur howls, squirming and giggling like a child.

So Eames, quick as lightning, rips off Arthur's sock and stretches it to tie around both Arthur's wrists, double knotting. 

Eames hooks the conjoined limbs over the wooden stand on Arthur's bed frame. Arthur pulls at them but the knot tightens. He's trapped.

Something brushes against Eames as he shifts.

Eames moves from his position on Arthur's hips. He slowly parts Arthur's legs and falls in between them.

Eames gently lowers his head, still holding Arthur's hips in his hands, before he seals his mouth over Arthur's bare stomach, the soft flesh.

And blows a raspberry.

His mouth vibrates comically and he shakes his head into Arthur's belly.

Arthur laughs wildly, hysterical and helpless, so Eames blows another.

Something happens between tickling Arthur and glancing up.

Eames can't really describe it. But he glances up to Arthur smiling dopily, and Eames smiles himself, giddy with the thought that he made Arthur like that, he's the only one that's produced this reaction, he's the first person to touch Arthur in this way.

That's when it happens.

When Eames smiles on Arthur's saliva-wet stomach, his teeth peek through and he accidentally scrapes Arthur's downy skin with his sharp incisors.

Arthur makes a strange noise.

Eames flicks his eyes up to see Arthur staring down at him, widened eyes and dilated pupils, to the extent where his irises have gone utterly black.

Something pokes at Eames' chest, warm and hard.

Eames' smile dies on his lips. Still staring at Arthur, Eames presses his damp mouth to Arthur's skin again in a caress.

Arthur's breath hitches, Eames hears it, but he feels is as well, the way his stomach jumps underneath Eames.

Eames feels arousal swarm like wasps throughout his blood, pool in the pit of his stomach with dizzying heat.

Eames, as if on impulse, flicks his tongue down over the hint of muscle.

"Oh— nngh." Arthur stutters, shivering and almost indiscernibly bucking his hips to lift himself more, leaning into Eames' touch.

Eames move up, grazes his teeth over Arthur's belly and kisses his left ribcage. He does it again, kisses just below his pectoral, a soft brush of mouth, and again, and again, climbing higher and higher.

Arthur's breathing has grown laboured, chest pumping quickly.

Eames lightly, ever so lightly, scrapes the bottom row of his teeth past Arthur's delicate nipple. His flesh tastes bittersweet and salty.

"Ea-Eames?" Arthur's voice cracks halfway through and he swallows audibly, breaths coming out in sharp little pants.

Eames glances up to look at Arthur. He holds his eyes, holds them whilst moving up still to Arthur's collar bones, over his bunched up t-shirt and to his neck.

Eames gathers some of the pale skin between his teeth, suckles gently. Arthur arches his head back, exposing the whole column of flesh, and Eames drowns in him, his fresh, earthy smell, his piquant taste, the steady thrum of his pulse point underneath silken skin.

Arthur slips a leg in between Eames' knees, twisting his arms as if he wants to touch, fingers flexing.

Eames lifts off Arthur's neck, lets his mouth skate Arthur's chin, before hovering over his lips.

Arthur's eyes flutter closed and Eames gravitates slightly, sways toward him. Eames' eyelids feel a heavy weight. Arthur ebbs his head forward like the tide flows to the shore, nearly, nearly, and then their lips touch.

Eames would never have thought that kissing a boy was like this.

Eames always thought it would be gross and lewd, kissing someone of your own gender. It would be awkward and wrong.

But now, Arthur's lips are dry and buttery soft. And when he moves slightly to the side, Eames is overwhelmed with a flood of _right_.

Eames slowly moves his head as well, and Arthur parts his lips against his, open mouthed and panting.

Eames presses back down until he has to breathe.

There's a quiet moment of just their quick panting.

"Was that ticklish?" Eames whispers huskily, not smiling, afraid to raise his voice lest it crack the fragile moment.

"No." Arthur answers in an undertone, voice thick with something unknown.

Eames lifts his hand to untie Arthur's wrists. He watches as Arthur's slender arms fall away and slide gracefully.

Arthur bites his bottom lip, pulls at the plump skin.

Eames unravels Arthur's polo shirts where is must be clammy. He goes to pull it fully down Arthur's body, but Arthur catches his hand and stops him. Eames looks up.

Arthur is staring, eyes dark, lips falling open and inviting.

Eames stifles a breath of air.

Arthur shifts again on the floor, bringing himself closer to Eames.

Eames holds his breath.

Arthur stares unblinkingly. Eames brings a hand up to the back of Arthur's head and gently cards his fingers through the dark mussed strands.

Arthur's eyes seem to grow, his lips getting bigger. Eames is fairly certain he's moving closer without meaning to.

Arthur's nostrils flare. Eames lifts Arthur's head up with his palm, feels the gentle throb of his skull.

Arthur's hand comes to rest on Eames' shoulder, curling his fingers into the material of his t-shirt.

Eames crushes their lips together.

Arthur fists and tears at Eames' t-shirt, other hand coming to grab at Eames' hair. He feels a madness, a type of insanity, swell in his chest. Arthur wildly kisses him, gasping and moving and arching as if he'll die, he'll starve.

Eames pushes, presses Arthur to the floor and kisses him, parting his lips to flick his tongue lightly against Arthur's. Arthur's mouth blossoms open like a flower as Eames touches his tongue to his.

An electric jolt passes through Eames again, a shape static burst, blindingly pleasurable, and Eames rips at Arthur, just as Arthur tears at him.

Arthur bucks his hips upwards, stuttering and uneven, as if involuntary. Eames feels the hot weight brush softly against his thigh, and a spastic thrill runs along his spine.

He pushes back, grazing his erection on Arthur's leg. Arthur keens quietly below Eames' lips. He suddenly pulls away from the kiss and ducks to Eames' neck.

Eames gasps as Arthur lightly bites at the vulnerable skin, peeks his tongue out to lick at his flesh, and Eames' own hips jerk uncontrollably.

Arthur moves his other thigh and wraps it loosely around Eames' waist. Eames presses himself flush against Arthur on the floor, an awkward tangle of limbs and hands and mouths.

Their pace is inexperienced, but their rhythm is fluid and right. Arthur curves his whole back and lets his pelvis rise and fall whilst Eames grinds his hips to Arthur's. Their erections brush fleetingly. White hot, searing pleasure erupts throughout Eames body. His heart slams into his lungs, crushing them and making it difficult to breathe.

Arthur's hands grip at Eames as he clasps both legs around Eames' torso and snaps his hips up to Eames.

Eames' hair is falling into his eyes. His boxers and wet and sticky with pre-come, and he can feel his left foot losing circulation. It's perfect.

Arthur grunts, slows, and stifles a giggle that comes out like a suppressed sneeze.

"What?" Eames asks.

"I just had the strongest urge to say manhood." Arthur tightens his hold around Eames, sniggering quietly.

Eames stops, and giggles with him.

"Why?" Eames wheezes.

"Cause our— ugh!" Arthur laughs whilst trying to explain, gesturing weakly to their crotches.

Eames chuckles again, then groans.

"Arrrthur. We're supposed to be having sex." He whines. He's waited for this moment for what seems like forever.

Arthur grins up at him. "We are." He states simply.

"Then why are we talking?" Eames inquires.

"Dirty. We're talking dirty. I just said manhood." Arthur replies proudly. Eames snickers.

"People still don't talk during sex." Eames compromises.

"Yes they do!" Arthur says vehemently.

"Okay, fine. Why don't we continue and you try to talk."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Deal."

Eames gyrates his pelvis down onto Arthur's crotch, rubbing their erections. "Okay, so I was at the park the other day." Arthur starts, voice already sounding thick, and Eames grins into his neck before nipping in quick succession, rapid little bites.

"And I came...across... This — squirrel. I saw this...squirrel, and I, oh, hmm, thought to mhyyself, isn't that a funny looking, huhgghmm, thing, with the...and it had - so that's.. a constitutional...  
environment." Arthur stutters, voice rough, but he raises his eyebrows at Eames smugly, content with himself, and Eames bursts out in snorting laugher.

"What?!" Arthur cries indignantly.

"Just — oh my god." Eames snorts again, and Arthur glares.

"Fine, you try talking." Arthur says, and shifts up so Eames is underneath. Eames lies down on the floor, and Arthur crawls over him.

"Okay. Okay okay, I need to find something to talk about." Eames deliberates, but Arthur is already kissing his way up Eames' chest through his t-shirt, peppering open mouthed touches all over.

"Eh, lets see...lets,” Eames sighs, “seee, mmhh."

Arthur nips at Eames nipple.

"Ah! Ah — I was walking along, minding my own business." Eames begins, "When all of a sudden, this _squirrel_ ", Eames emphasises, "Comes bounding round the corner, dancing the irish jig and whatnot, green top hat and all." Eames says just as Arthur reaches Eames' neck.

"So I, ahhh, hmm...I...was, just—surprised. At this. Oh! Mmm, said...me. Because. Because...bee, cause, it resembled, Rick's, ugghh, _Arthur_! Arthur, fuck, Arthur."

Eames' words fail as Arthur bites softly at the junction of Eames' jaw and ear, again and again until the mindless pleasure is tinged melodiously with pain.

Arthur drags his bottom lip over the shell of Eames' ear. "Don't ever say Rick." Arthur commands in a gentle whisper.

Eames breathes harshly as Arthur gathers his whole earlobe in his mouth, pulling and suckling.

"M'kay. Mmmmmm." He moans, shifting. "Really good, you're really good at this." He continues babbling.

“Good at everything, Arthur. Gymnastics. Being strong. School, grades, even working, having a job on top of everything. Mmmm. Kissing. Nice. So lovely, so — oh, good. Your dimples, so beautiful. Being weird. Dancing. Talking about squirrels. Talking about everything. Can talk, hmmm, bout anything. Toes are funny. You're funny, mm, so funny. Makes me laugh. M'love you.” Eames finishes, floating in a haze of pleasure, delirious.

Arthur has stopped kissing him and is hovering above his face. Eames opens his eyes flutteringly and looks up to Arthur's wondrous expression.

"You don't mean that." Arthur whispers fearfully.

"What?" Eames slurs dreamily, fidgeting happily below Arthur.

"You just said you loved me." Arthur says, cheeks pink, mouth open, before a blinding smile splits open his face.

"..."

Eames gapes mutely, suddenly terrified.

Arthur nods sharply, sunny grin absolutely unmoving.

"Eh, well, I mean — like, are you?" Eames asks incoherently.

Arthur nods harshly again, mouth snapping where it hangs loose, smile still intact.

"So, what — you mean?”

Arthur still nods. He seemingly realises that isn't helping, so he places his hand on Eames' chest, smooths it down like he doesn't actually know what to do.

Eames sits up so he and Arthur are level. He pulls Arthur up with him.

Eames slowly walks Arthur backwards towards his bed.

*

Lying in afterwards, naked under the sheets, basking in gentle, exploratory touches of exposed skin and learning the planes and crevices of each other, Eames thinks that he needn't have worried - their coming together was slow, but inevitable. They're drawn to each other like base elements, like chemicals, and he didn't need to plan, to worry that Arthur wasn't as attracted to him - he simply needed to let it happen, which was exactly what Arthur was doing.

Still. A small part of it was due to his seducing, he allows himself to believe.

Plan: _Success._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That's it. 
> 
> I'm not sure when the next time I'll return to this verse/fandom is, because I'm currently in A LOT of fandoms at the moment, as you'll see when I begin posting more, but I've decided to leave the series open in case I return, because I still have so many deleted scenes that I can't even FIND in the dark depths of my notes - I swear I have over a thousand. 
> 
> It's not good for my storage.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33


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